


Tumblr Ficlets

by Mis_Shapes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: 14/09/20Ch. 8 - Theon x Patrek (ASOIAF) (~400 words, post canon, T/M)Ch. 9 - Theon x Robb (ASOIAF) - Post Battle in The Whispering Wood (~700 words, Canon Compliant, T)17/07/20Ch. 4 - Theon x Patrek x Kyra (ASOIAF) - "Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy." (~800 words, 90s AU, T)Ch. 5 - Jon x Val (ASOIAF) - “I got you a present." (~500 words, Canon Setting)Ch. 6 - Theon x Robb (ASOIAF) - “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” (~500 words, Modern AU, T/M)Ch. 7 - Theon x Jon (ASOIAF) - "Dance with me." (~950 words, Modern AU, T)10/07/20Ch. 1 - Theon x Robb (ASOIAF) - “Just pretend to be my date.” (~900 words, Modern AU, Dinner Party, T)Ch. 2 - Catherine &/x Peter (The Great) - “I am not jealous.” (~200 words, G)Ch. 3 - Theon x Jon (ASOIAF) - "You’re so cute when you pout like that." (~950 words, University/College AU, T/M)Ratings in titles and further info/warnings in notes if needed
Relationships: Jon Snow/Val, Kyra/Patrek Mallister, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Kyra, Theon Greyjoy/Patrek Mallister, Theon Greyjoy/Patrek Mallister/Kyra, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	1. Theon x Robb - “Just pretend to be my date.” (~900 words, Modern AU, Dinner Party, T)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update when every so often when I have a few posted on Tumblr. Feel free to drop a prompt in [my ask box](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/ask). Non-Tumblr users (and Tumblr users in fact) are able to use anon. At the moment I am going by requests from [this list](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/post/623744488067727360/angstfluff-prompt-list) for ficlets, but prompts not there are also welcome.

He shouldn’t have brought Robb here under false pretences, he knows this. Theon also knows that had he asked Robb to do what he’s asking him now in advance he’d have been reluctant and would probably have come out with something along the lines of not being good enough at lying, for which he’d admittedly have good grounds to say. 

**“Just pretend to be my date,”** he repeats, taking Robb’s woollen coat from him. At least he’s taken note of Theon’s warnings about it being a somewhat pretentious dinner party and has dressed accordingly. Turns out he doesn’t just own shirts and dress shoes for weddings and funerals.

Robb frowns, knocking snowflakes from his hair. “But why?”

“Because I’m not about to be the only one without a date at this thing.”

“Fine,” Robb sighs heavily with a roll of his eyes, “fine, whatever. So what, are you wanting a just met kind of date, or a ‘we’ve known each other for a while and we’ve decided to risk’ it kind of date?”

This was the other element; in the face of his friends starting to settle down and coming to become increasingly concerned about his habits and wellbeing, especially as they approach the holidays, he has maybe told a few white lies… Ok, outright lies.

Theon grimaces. “A ‘we’ve been dating for a couple of months’ kind of date.” 

To his credit, Robb doesn’t even flinch at the suggestion, just purses his lips and nods, looking from the door to the dining room everyone is in down the hall and back to Theon in the well-lit entrance. “PDA level?”

“Whatever you find reasonable.” He elaborates on a raised eyebrow from Robb, “this is a bit of an alien concept to me. The whole, you know, ‘going out’ with someone for longer than a week. Plus, I’ve kind of just landed you in it.”

“You think?” Robb asks in what is closest to a snap Theon’s heard him make in a long time. “We best go in, they’ll be wondering what’s going on.”

“I’m alone with the guy I’m supposedly dating, they’ll be assuming, not wondering.” Theon laughs despite Robb’s exasperated expression.

-

“So,” Patrek asks, looking at Robb rather than Theon in an attempt to draw him into the conversation during the main course. Robb is a friendly and bubbly sort of person once he gets to it, but he’s been raised to be as polite as possible during these events. “How did you two get together.”

Theon looks up from the fish on his plate and struggles to decide whether he needs to step in here. He has no clue whether Robb’s story will even slightly resemble his. He hadn’t expected the question on account of having dropped pieces of information around his aforementioned ‘tales’.

“Ah, well,” Robb flashes his broad smile and rests his warm hand at Theon’s shoulder, “it’s quite a long story... in many ways.” His thumb strokes him gently. It and the weight of the touch feel so reassuring that Theon eases back from making a sudden outburst and brings the rim of a wine glass to his mouth for a drink. “We’ve known each other since we were small, and, to tell the truth, I kinda fancied him for the longest time, but, well, he was this unobtainable older guy that had everyone fawning over him, and I was sure that I was just this annoying kid to him.”

It sounds so fucking plausible that Theon can’t quite believe it’s coming out of Robb ‘hopeless liar’ Stark’s mouth. 

The sound of Robb’s fond storytelling voice has drawn the attention of the other’s at the table, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. His hand slips down from its resting spot to take Theon’s own on top of the table cloth and gives it an affectionate squeeze.

“Anyway,” Robb continues, “we stayed in touch and when I moved down here we met up and if anything I only felt stronger about it. I mean, it was pure torture being around this absolutely gorgeous guy without being able to kiss him, and eventually, I’d just about built up the courage to ask him out when suddenly he was asking me on a date. And here we are.”

Theon’s heart had stopped at the word gorgeous, and he’d found himself having to disguise how he’d almost choked and spat out the mouthful of wine he’d just sipped.

Through the awws of the table and some of the other guests commenting to each other on how sweet it was, Robb leans in and places a soft kiss on his mouth with a smile. Its the best bloody performance he’s seen any of the Stark kids do and that includes Sansa’s Odette.

“Thank you,” Theon whispers, trying not to mourn the loss of Robb’s lips too much. 

The smile on Robb’s face turns lopsided and he blushes behind the freckles. “It’s easy when it’s the truth,” he whispers back.

Seven fucking hells.

Theon’s mouth chases the lips and feels them part when his hand reaches Robb’s jaw and feels the stubble beneath, fingers toys toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

He’s pretty sure what follows is a breach of acceptable dinner party PDA, but they all know what he’s like so fuck them.


	2. Catherine & Peter (The Great) - “I am not jealous.” (G)

“You can’t very well be jealous,” Catherine says, hiking up her blue satin dress a little to keep from tripping as she chases Peter along the long gallery while keeping as much dignity as possible. Curse having such a long-legged husband. “It was your idea after all.”

 **“I am not jealous,”** he tells her like a petulant child, stopping to turn to her.

She does nothing but simply raise her eyebrows. It is rather tempting to set her hands on her hips.

“Well!” Peter flaps his arms dramatically. “It is only that they see you as a gracious being when it is their king that provides for them.”

“Yes, Peter,” she placates him. “You are right, of course. However, perhaps you could consider it that by seeing me in a good light they do you also. After all, am I not a reflection on you as your wife and queen?”

He tilts his head as he has a tendency to do in thought. “I had not thought of it that way. Huh, I suppose you are right,” he offers her his arm for the rest of the distance which she accepts with all the obedience he expects of a good wife. 

Catherine smiles prettily up at him. Sometimes, it feels all too easy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, feel free to drop a prompt in [my ask box](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/ask). Non-Tumblr users (and Tumblr users in fact) are able to use anon. At the moment I am going by requests from [this list](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/post/623744488067727360/angstfluff-prompt-list) for ficlets, but prompts not there are also welcome. 
> 
> As always, comments very much appreciated.


	3. Theon x Jon - "You’re so cute when you pout like that." (University/College AU, T/M)

Jon rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as Margaery gets her way again, and then gets up from her seat to speak as though there aren’t only 8 of them in the small library meeting room. Gods, he hates group projects and this one in particular. It’s like Tyrion decided to put him in a group with the biggest bunch of narcissists in the class. If they’d only listen to him for one fucking second.

Then there’s Greyjoy, the biggest narcissist of them all, glancing over to Jon with a smirk every time he is shot down or talked over. That one night in Freshers Week had been one of the biggest mistakes in the whole three years in uni. He should’ve never let that arrogant twat see him naked, no matter how good he was in bed.

Theon’s biting lightly on the end of his pen with his elbow resting on the back of the chair, angled sideways in it and towards the projector so he can pretend to watch Marg, but glances back over now and again.

Eventually, Jon snaps. He raises his brows, putting one hand palm up and shaking his head slightly from side to side. What’s his problem.

Theon’s lips curl further, his tongue darts over them, and he pulls his phone from his pocket, going back to facing the screen while he messes around on it beneath the overhang of the table. Good, maybe he’ll leave him alone.

He knows this is not the case as soon as his phone vibrates on the table.

**DNR**  
**> you’re so cute when you pout like that.**

Jon scowls and adheres to the suggestion in the contact name, putting the phone on the table - face down this time. Do not give him the time of day with these antics. Do not respond. Do not resuscitate that.

It buzzes again, twice, and this time he sees both Marg and Merry look over with disapproval.

**DNR**  
>come on, it wasn’t even anything lewd  
>suggestive maybe 

**Jon**  
>fuck off 

This time he sticks it in his pocket and decides to become attentive as the discussion carries on. He even gets out a pen and notebook. 

When he feels the notification of another message against his thigh he fights the urge to check it.

Ever impatient, Greyjoy’s foot nudges him from across the table.

Ok, so he won’t go crawling to him like others might, but he does still struggle to ever ignore him completely. So he looks up and mouths, _‘what?’_ when he’s sure they aren’t being watched.

Theon nods towards where Jon’s keeping his phone with a grin.

**DNR**  
>you’re also cute when you get serious.

Jon rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the, albeit very small, tight-lipped smile his lips are trying to pull, so he attempts to disguise it with with a sip of water and rests his elbow on the tabletop so he can cover his mouth with his fingers. The next time Theon catches his eye the prick winks.

**DNR**  
>how about it? 

He knows exactly what he’s doing when he replies. He’s playing right into Greyjoy’s hand… and maybe that’s what he wants. It feels good to have retained this attention over the years. And perhaps he has encouraged it, just a touch, with flirty rebuttals now and again. 

**Jon**  
>what do you want? 

**DNR**  
>finish it how we started it?  
>go out with a bang? ;) 

Ok, it has to be said that this is moderately entertaining, but he’s not going to cave that easily. 

Jon goes back to paying attention to the divvying up of tasks and pairing up needed for the project, and when he sneaks a glance now and again Theon is doing the same, even if he is twisting a strand of black hair rather than making any notes with the pen which is now still and laid on the table.

**Jon**  
**> you’re so cute when you pout like that.**

Theon grins as soon as he sees the message, and that beautiful single dimple of his makes an appearance. 

**DNR**  
>I know I’ve gone about this the wrong way  
>but do you want to have a drink sometime?  
>this isn’t even a euphemism  
>i promise 

“Sorry, Margaery,” Jon says to get her attention.

She looks up from her laptop she’s setting out her plan on. “Yes?”

Jon swallows the lump in his throat. “I think it would be better if I worked with Greyjoy on this one.”

“Oh.” She looks surprised about this suggestion, as do a fair amount of the others, who look to Theon for a reaction. “I suppose,” _you do live close to each other and have different skill sets_ , “that makes sense. As long as that’s OK with you, Theon?”

“Sure thing,” Theon chuckles and meets Jon’s eyes with purpose, “whatever Lord Snow wants.”

What has he done?


	4. Theon x Patrek x Kyra (ASOIAF) - "Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy." (~800 words, 90s AU, T)

Theon shrugs off his leather jacket and throws it down next to him on their go-to bench. Every element of the Smoking Log is well known to him; from the way the soles of his DM’s stick to the tacky floorboards and the way the covering of the cushions stapled to the bench feels crunchy under his fingers to the list of songs and bands barred from being played on the jukebox, and everything in between. The smell of stale beer and lingering smoke has almost come to be a comfort. But today there’s a new feature and it’s one he’s keen to know better.

Behind the bar, Bessa has had a watchful eye on him ever since he stepped through the door, and perhaps it’s warranted.

“Seems like she knows what she’s doing,” Patrek tells him casually, after setting two pints down on the table and letting a packet of crisps from his teeth. Bessa had even been mindful enough to intervene and serve even him herself. There’s only so long this can last if she means to keep the new member of staff on. 

Theon takes a sip of the beer and watches the redhead behind the bar pushing a spirit bottle up into an optic. He’s partial to some fire now and again and this girl looks like she has it.

She turns from the bottle racks when a woman stood at the bar speaks to her, and leans in to hear better, hair cascading down. With a laugh, she nods and tucks her hair back behind her ear before she drops gracefully down to take a bottle from the fridge below.

Beside him, Patrek has been watching with just as much interest. “Must’ve come from somewhere else,” he comments while pulling out tobacco from the pocket of the denim jacket he’s got on, as though that’s why he’s staring. “Anyway, you were telling me about this job Asha wants you to take.”

“Right,” Theon begins and launches into giving him the rundown of the conversation he’d had with his sister earlier that day, catching the eye of the charming new barmaid, who appears to have all the older patrons wrapped around her little finger already, now and again.

Later, when Bessa appears to have let up a little, he gets Patrek over to browse new music on the machine just opposite the bar and leans up against it, laughing when Patrek predictably goes straight to selecting a Suede single. It’s a minor miracle that it’s not yet made it to the blacklist. 

Patrek grins back and shakes his head in faux disapproval at Theon biting his lip whilst looking at him, but he hits him playfully on the arm all the same. “Go over and get a drink, twit.”

She raises her arched eyebrows at him when he does cross over and leans onto the bar, which is almost as tacky as the floor.

“Thought you were too scared,” she says, smirking.

Theon chuckles. “She can be quite scary when she wants to be,” he comments in reference to the landlady, then offers out a hand. “Theon.”

There’s a pause while she considers it in which she looks thoroughly entertained by it all and licks her lip. “Oh, I know,” she laughs, taking his hand anyway. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And I assume this is Patrek?” 

Theon follows the way she looks around him to his friend and steps slightly to the side so Patrek, mid rolling up, gets the message to come over.

“Hi,” she removes her hand from Theon’s to give it to Patrek, “I’m Kyra.”

“Hey,” he smiles endearingly, a twinkle in his grey eyes, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“So, what have they been saying about me? All good things, I hope?” Theon asks with a grin to get some of the attention back and winks. He knows exactly what they’ll have been saying.

Kyra shakes her head at him in exactly the same way Patrek had. “Not quite. **Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy**.” She then smirks again while eyeing up Patrek just as he puts the cigarette between his lips and brings out a lighter, before going back to speak to Theon. “And,” she says conspiratorially and nods in Patrek’s direction, “they tell me you’re a bad influence on him.”

Theon snorts and glances to Patrek, raising his eyebrows to see what his friend thinks about this. He’d say Patrek was just as much of a ‘bad’ influence on him.

With a smirk, Patrek gives a small ‘why not?’ shrug as he lights up the smoke.


	5. Jon x Val (ASOIAF) - “I got you a present." (~500 words, Canon Setting)

Every fibre of his being is wrought in agony, it itches like a wound on the mend, but it’s an itch that has been with him for days. They bring him remedies for the pain, but the pain is something he can grit his teeth and bear, it had been something his cries had dulled, and at its worst, it had been enough to knock him out of his senses and the world completely. The way his skin crawls, the way it drives him to madness at any hint of milk of the poppy at his lips, is something he had once believe the red woman had not anticipated.

He’d believed this because of the look in her eyes when she had his hands bound to stop him from scratching himself raw for the first time. To stop him from tearing at the stitches in his skin. 

Those weren’t the eyes of someone with the confidence he’d come to expect from her. But something plays on his mind.

The itching; it stops him retreating into his mind more than her words ever could. They say he didn’t wake for days, now he barely sleeps.

When he hears the latch on the door he finds himself irrationally angry. Just a short time ago it had been enough even for Satin to leave him in his own company. He can’t even say he enjoys the peace, because one less person in the room is one less distraction from his body.

He expects to hear the swish of fabric against the floorboards but it never comes.

“Satin?” Jon asks, trying to elevate himself enough to see.

“Not Satin,” a familiar voice tells him, shining with amusement. Val. “Would you like me to fetch him for you?”

As though the wind has been knocked from him, Jon struggles to speak.

“They had told me you had taken to refusing bedclothes,” she comments.

“I - “ He begins, finding it in himself to flush. Anything against his skin has proved to be an irritant.

“It does appear, however, that the room is something of a furnace so I cannot blame you.”

“For the restorative powers of the flames, I’m told,” Jon tells her dryly and enjoys the huff of a laugh she makes when she comes into view. “Does she know that you are here?”

Her blue eyes meet his and he is taken back to different time and place where another brave woman had been found by the side of his sickbed. “Do you suppose I care?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, though perhaps she should.

Rosey lips turning to a smile, she pulls a small earthen pot from the pocket hanging from her belt. “I got you a present. Have your boy add a pinch to your bathing water. It should alleviate some on the irritation.”

He might’ve corrected her, might’ve pointed out Satin is his elder, but it falls dead in his throat because for a few brief moments he’d forgotten about his torment.


	6. Theon x Robb - “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” (~500 words, Modern AU, T/M)

He doesn’t even hear the door open and close over the whir of the electric whisk. The first he knows of Robb’s return home is the hand that gives a playful squeeze of his bum over his boxers. It would make him jump if he hadn’t come to anticipate these things… If he didn’t perform chores in states of undress to welcome Robb’s attention.

 **“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”** Robb asks when Theon turns off the whisk, chin perched on his shoulder. He places a hand on Theon’s hip and the other sweeps hair to the side to place a tender kiss just below his ear. 

“Well, Eton mess now,” Theon answers, gesturing towards the broken pavlova meringues sat on the counter, and laughs when Robb’s nose nuzzles him.

“Mmm,” he inhales in the crook of Theon’s neck, beard tickling at the sensitive skin there, “you smell of strawberries.”

“Funny that,” says Theon with a grin in reference to both the standard components of the dessert and purée in the blender.

Robb’s voice is telling when he asks, “do you taste of strawberries too?”

“Try me.” He smirks, turning where he sandwiched between Robb and the counter.

Robb takes one of the as of yet unchopped strawberries from the punnet and holds it against Theon’s lips. 

Theon raises his brows; at the wasting of fruit needed for the dessert, at the threat to the tight schedule he’s running to before the entire Stark family descend, but he’s not going to decline the offer. Eyes on Robb, he bites just below the hull and takes it into his mouth. Robb has chosen one of the larger fruits, he notes, the sweet juice flooding his tastebuds.

Having discarded the top, Robb watches Theon swallow, thumb sitting at his chin while he waits, then he leans in and kisses his lips, soft and lingering.

“Mmm, it’s good,” he says, pulling back to look at him, “but it’s missing something.”

“Oh?” Theon asks playing with Robb’s tie, amused. He laughs when he’s pressed into the cupboards by Robb reaching past him on a mission. He knows where this is going.

Sure enough, Robb’s blue eyes twinkle when he offers Theon whipped cream from his finger.

 _I’m going to make you regret this_ , thinks Theon with a smirk and wraps his lips around the offered morsel, dragging out the way he swirls his tongue around the digit, and looking at Robb through his lashes when he pulls away.

Robb seizes his lips, plunging him into a deep ravenous kiss, and has him moaning in seconds. 

“How long do we have?” Robb asks when they part.

Theon snorts. “Not long enough.”

Robb groans with a weary expression. “I hope there’s leftovers,” he says in earnest. 


	7. Theon x Jon - "Dance with me." (~950 words, Modern AU, T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet needs a little introduction! 
> 
> For any of you that don’t know that it was prompted with reference to [this crack post of mine](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/post/623638262459891712/salty-wench-recovered-theon-and-zombie-jon). I also really don’t know how well known daft bodies is - I know less so than hands, and they are quite old now, so take [a link to that](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLYD_-A_X5E) too. And lastly, you may want to know [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFLhGq0060w). 🤦♀️ I’ve let on to my odd sense of humour, haven’t I?

It had been Jon that had made the joke the first time, taking the piss when Theon told him, "what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger," with a cheeky wink on his release from hospital by responding, “harder, better, faster, stronger,” from the loaned wheelchair. 

Since that night every time Theon has had a drink around him he does the exact same thing.

He nudges Jon’s leg. “Come on, Snow, you know you want to. If you didn’t want to you wouldn’t have said it.”

“I was tired and on codeine, I don’t even remember saying it,” Jon laughs. “And bringing up a song does not necessarily mean you want to reenact a spoof dance video.”

“Please?” Theon bats his eyelashes at him from the floor.

“I can’t dance!” 

There’s a couple of chuckles from around the room, no one comments further, but Theon’s voice echos what he’d said a few months back in his mind. ‘No ones going to be watching the moves,’ it whispers.

“I can’t be that hard,” comments Theon finally, laid out on the floor. and grins when Robb laughs. 

“This is a very elaborate way of trying to get Jon down to his underwear,” Arya says, playing with the ring pull on the can she’s holding.

Sansa gasps theatrically. “Arya!”

“Everyone’s thinking it.”

“Even so,” Jon hears Sansa say, but he’s focused on the way Theon’s lips curl and keeping the heat from his cheeks. 

“Nah,” Robb says, and has everyone turn to look at him while he takes a sip of his drink. “He’s just that much of an attention seeker.”

“Hey!” Theon laughs, then shrugs. “You have a point though.”

The conversation moves on, but every now and again he catches Theon’s eyes linger on him and soon he finds himself doing the same. He takes in the way his black hair spills over the arm he’s using to cushion his head, how his hand drifts over his torso absentmindedly, and how his body shakes when he laughs.

There was a time when he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Greyjoy. Though Theon may tease him and he may roll his eyes and scoff in return still they each know it’s just part of the fun. When Robb had first badgered him into letting Theon live with them he’d agreed to it through gritted teeth, now he can’t imagine living without him. Especially not since Robb met Jeyne had has become increasingly absent.

Theon’s dark eyes meet his, he smiles, and Jon’s heart skips a beat. He has to know the effect he has on him.

When he makes a witty comment on Arya’s cooking, he feels a touch at his calf. Theon’s hand slips up his trouser leg, thumb stroking his skin and sending a shiver up his spine. He’s certain someone will notice, but notice what exactly? Theon’s usual drunk touchy-feely nature? But no one seems to.

“Well,” begins Jeyne, five minutes later, “I should probably get going.”

Arya yawns. “Us too.”

“I’ll walk you all down the hill,” Robb says, standing up and starting the trickle of people out of the room.

Now sat up at the base of the sofa, when they are alone, Theon turns and sets his elbow on the seat of the sofa next to Jon. **“Dance with me,”** he says with a broad grin and has Jon on his feet at the first signs of him caving.

Jon tries to control his own smile at how quickly Theon has it on the screen and before long they are both laughing at their joint inability to keep up. 

After the second run, Theon lets it play out. “It needs some work, but this,” he smiles as I Feeling I Coming begins to play. He says nothing more, but dances in time to the music, borrowing a few moves from the video now and again.

Jon laughs when Theon tugs on his shirt like it were a jacket and arches a brow when he dances in close to him. As he lets his arms be drawn up over Theon’s shoulders has to wonder if he’d planned this all along. Can you queue youtube videos?

“You’re terrible,” he tells him.

“Yeah?” Theon asks, smirking as he slips a hand onto Jon’s lower back.

“And drunk.”

Theon’s tongue darts over his lip. He searches Jon’s face and shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re an idiot.” With that, he leans in and sets his forehead against his as he dances. 

A couple of heated looks later and Jon’s willing to get drawn into this, the idea that Theon isn’t just playing with him, and that neither of them are under too much influence, no matter how much he might like to be able to blame it down the line. He shifts his arms, letting a hand sit on Theon’s shoulder and stroking the other down his chest.

Theon’s face light’s up, eyes flicking down to Jon’s lips, his nose nudges Jon’s own in a silent request to meet his lips. 

Jon goes to meet him halfway when the main light flicks on.

“Wow, ok,” Robb’s voice breathes and they’re back to the lamplight and the flickering TV. “I don’t need to see that. I’m going to go… somewhere else. Not here.”


	8. Theon x Patrek - (~400 words, post canon, T/M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Tumblr kiss prompt

Theon stirs to the press of lips, warm and soft, against the nape of his neck. Arms encircle him, pulling him just enough to have his back pressed up against the hard torso behind him.

“Mmm,” he murmurs encouragingly, smiling when Patrek kisses his collar, stopping short of marking him. “Time‘s it?”

“Early,” responds Patrek in a whisper. His hand searches out bare skin; a difficult feat this early in the spring, and pushes up Theon’s nightshirt to dip underneath caress his side. There had been a time when Theon would have pushed it away, but Patrek insists the marks are no different to his own battle scars. He demonstrates with no hesitation the joys of the contrasting sensitivity they bring under his mouth.

The tickling breath and nose at his neck have Theon shiver more than the undressing. His bed, beneath the furs, is always warm when the heir to Seagard visits. Patrek makes sure of that. Maintaining diplomatic ties has taken on a whole new meaning. Asha japes that the raids only occur between himself and young Riverlander in the bedroom these days.

Eyes shut, he turns in Patrek’s strong arms to seek out a kiss and grins at the squeeze of a hand on his buttock and the way it pulls him closer to make clear the desire behind this rousing. The other hand falls from Theon’s hair to his jaw, drawing him in. Lips parting on instinct at the touch, Theon succumbs to Patrek’s leisurely advances, which are a divergence from the desperation there had been the night before though the faint taste of apple wine remains.

“I should go,” Theon reasons, willing Patrek to argue otherwise.

“Not yet,” Patrek tells him and kisses him once more. When he breaks away, he ghosts his lips along Theon’s jaw and down his neck with a graze of light stubble. He mumbles against his skin, “we have time,” and ooches slightly down, kissing where the shirt parts to reveal a little chest. The drift of his hand tells Theon he doesn’t mistake his intentions.

Threading his fingers, bar the one missing, of his left hand through Patrek’s short hair, Theon peeks through heavy lidded eyes and is greeted by the grey-blue of his companion’s own looking up at him expectantly, accompanied with a mischievous smile. He’s always been able to count on Patrek matching his own wants.


	9. Theon x Robb (~700 words, Canon Compliant, Post Battle in The Whispering Wood, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Battle in The Whispering Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Tumblr kissing prompt

Those outside Robb’s tent no longer think to question Theon when he moves to enter, pushing back the heavy fabric, being how often he does so without ever being turned away. Inside, the cold of the early dawn is forgotten immediately. His feet squelch inside his boots and his breeches are heavy with mud, but it doesn’t matter, it’s nothing compared to the victory.

He doesn’t have it in him to be courteous or discerning when it comes to how to react to Olyvar’s presence. All he can muster is the patience to wait until the squire has removed the blood soaked surcoat from his liege lord to tell him to leave, but that’s a lot when he’d like to physically remove him.

Frey looks from him to Robb, two years his junior, but with more power that he’ll ever know, and all it takes from Robb is a curt nod of his head to dismiss his attendant.

This new position they find themselves in, it should irritate him, but instead it only thrills and in truth Robb’s respect for him places him in higher standing than he’s ever found himself. Even after Cat joined them. Robb has always been close to him, but he’s quickly proved himself to be more than just a peer.

Only when Olyvar has left them does Robb brave an open glance to him with all the emotion he feels, blue eyes startlingly wide through the auburn curls that have fallen into his face.

“You told her the truth of it?” Theon asks as he approaches, bare hands reaching towards the cool mail covering Robb. “You are unhurt?” Robb’s nod has him smile. It would not be unlike the young Stark to lie to his mother. And running as high from battle as he appears to be, Theon wouldn’t put it past him not to have noticed an injury, but the Frey boy would have spotted one by now. “Good,” he says, pushing up the armour and having Robb bend forwards to guide it carefully over his head without snagging his hair and onto the ground.

Robb’s chest heaves below his gambeson, yet to calm down after the battle. His hand reaches forwards to Theon’s cheek, thumb wiping what Theon assumes must be dirt or blood, or perhaps both, from his face. “And you?”

“I’m well.” Theon grins, unlacing the next layer of Robb’s clothing with numb fingers. “Did you worry for me, my lord?”

Robb looks up at him, speaking sincerely and neglecting to comment on the title. “I always worry for you.”

“The Young Wolf thinks of me?” Theon teases, lowering his voice and pushing the quilted jacket from his shoulders and delighting when Robb joins him in this pursuit of ridding them from their clothing.

“You know I do, how could I not?”

He nips his lip lightly, picturing how he’d looked before the battle, rallying his men and wondering how many others were as taken by their leader as he was. “I’m going to think of how you looked up on that horse of yours a lot.” That has Robb smiling. “You’re a natural.”

Interpreting Theon’s mood correctly, Robb silently directs his wolf to the entrance to keep watch. The beast makes a low whine in protest at being moved, but obeys his command with no further direction.

The moment they are free from the confines of the armour and padding, Robb pulls him sharply in, pressing his body hard against his and drawing him into a kiss.

“I kept thinking on how I might never feel your lips on mine again,” Robb tells him huskily into his ear, firm hand splayed against Theon’s back and arching him in.

Theon’s fingers work their way into his shaggy hair and guide him back to his mouth. Robb kisses him as though he’s been starved and fears he will never know such a taste again. The heat of his body is everything now that Theon has cooled down from the battle. Some claim to wish for an honourable death in battle, but who would choose the cold dirt over the warmth inside their lover’s furs?

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, feel free to drop a prompt in [my ask box](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/ask). Non-Tumblr users (and Tumblr users in fact) are able to use anon. At the moment I am going by requests from [this list](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/post/623744488067727360/angstfluff-prompt-list) for ficlets, but prompts not there are also welcome. 
> 
> As always, comments very much appreciated.


End file.
